Alcohol Poisoned My Heart
by Sassy-lesbian-Catherine
Summary: Roxy struggles with alcoholism and more as Rose struggles with her own problems. Emotional story. Rated M for Roxy/Rose. Contains emotional Roxy/Rose. Contains death and scenes of mild and moderate violence. Reviews are greatly appreciated.


_I didn't want to write anything too graphic. But I am an absolute sucker when it comes to the Roxy/Rose ship, I really am. And their story has to be rough and tough. This is the story of two incredibly strong girls. It is rated M for sexual situations, death, drinking, self-harm, and emotional back stories. _

_If you don't feel like going on emotional journeys through the eyes of Roxy or don't like a pairing that could be considered (and is) incest, then DON'T READ._

_Enjoy! Reviews are greatly appreciated. I can't tell you how much they mean to me and make me happy. _

_This is __**Alcohol Poisoned My Heart.**_

**Alcohol Poisoned My Heart**

"Roxy?"

My eyes refused to open, so I held onto the familiarity of that voice. Rose's voice. As soon as I regained consciousness, I knew exactly where I was.

Oh, _fuck. _"Roxy, you need to wake up, honey."

This time, it wasn't Rose's voice that was speaking to me. It was a man's voice, gruff and utterly _male. _Oh, fuck. I don't recognize it, _fuck, _I really don't know that many men...

Not _fucking _again. My eyelids fluttered open out of sheer curiosity- mostly hope that I had proved myself wrong- but of course, all of my hunches were right. I could see the sterile white walls, the doctor's (to my horror, a male doctor, I wished that I had at least _one _hot ass to look at while I was in here) hard aged face, and I knew exactly where I was once again.

None of the variables that had landed me a trip to the hospital- the drinking, the angry depression, the havoc that I create when I'm almost (literally) dead drunk- scared me. Not when my eyes met Rose's for that brief moment, the blazing anger, the _hatred _in her normally light, dancing, but hard eyes. _That _scared me.

They were beautiful, but in all of the wrong ways. But, she _was _beautiful, and, even though we're technically related, I'm gladder to have _her _on the edge of my bed than anybody else. Ever if her eyes screamed filthy words at me, the rest of her stole my attention, and I was glad.

Her cheeks were hollow, the bags under her eyes were dark and menacing (even though I couldn't look into her eyes, I could look at her face, don't judge). Her hair was messy, and she looked like either she's been crying a lot and not sleeping well, or that she was going to strangle me and punch me so hard that I'll go flying through the wall. Maybe both.

Oh, _fuck! _Rose had probably been shedding so many tears because of me, and for what? What was I to her?

All I did was feed off of her, a leech that blew most of her hard-earned money on as much booze as I could buy when I went on binges. _And, _she had to share a house with me. Well, it was _her _house, I was just like the annoying pet that you want to flush down the toilet, but you'd feel too guilty if you did it.

My sober brain could barely wrap around it. And then, a stray thought hit me. What if Rose... What if Rose _pitied _me? Paying for my rehab, going to therapy sessions with me, trying to cook at home every day so that we wouldn't go out and I wouldn't be _tempted, _and never letting me be alone in the house because she _pities _me?

My head snapped up a I realized that the doctor had asked me a question. Before I had time to even ask, "_what" _or_ "pardon"_ Rose had already jumped in to save my ass. Figures.

"...Her third time... I know, I understand the risks... I'm bringing her to rehabilitation and she's meeting with her psychologist three times every week... Upped her medications... I don't know what else to do..."

"We'll do something, honey. Something for both you and Roxy. Here's a list of all of the new medications that she'll be on, starting as soon as she gets out of the hospital." The doctor says to Rose, brushing off invisible dust from his blue robe awkwardly as he handed Rose a sheet of paper with the other. Bending over, the doctor whispered something to Rose, and she nodded.

Then, he left.

All I could do was turn to Rose, tears welling up in my eyes. "R-Rose..." I choked, and the harshness from her eyes drained as she slipped an arm around my shoulder.

"Shhh, Roxy, it'll be alright..." Rose assured to me, but that wasn't enough.

I turned and threw my arms around her, snuggled my head into the crook of her neck, sobbing my eyes out on her shoulder. "R-Rose!" I hiccupped.

Rose's hand found its way up to my hair, threading her dainty fingers through my blond locks, cooing me in her soft tantalizing voice, telling me that everything's going to be okay. But we both know that it wouldn't.

I've been in the ER a lot- mostly the occasional sprain that I thought was more serious, et cetera- but I've been here three times under serious circumstances.

Once, for just plain overdrinking. My "mom", however you want to think about it, okay, my mom had died from killing herself- a suicide. She couldn't stop drinking, and she couldn't get away from her obsession, and it consumed her, it ate her whole. I watched, just shy of being sixteen, as she finished up the bottle of whatever she was drinking, picked the knife up... And yeah. Shit happened.

I've never told Rose all of this, but one day I might. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll try and chase away my drinking only to find out that I'll never escape it too, and when Ipick up the knife, _she'll _be the helpless child watching as the only person that she's ever known kills herself.

After seeing something so terrible, I turned to drinking, drinking away all those memories. I never wanted to take up drinking, but what was I _supposed _to? How does you cope you're your mother not only dying, but _killing herself _right in front of you? You don't. There are a lot of alcoholics in my family- so said my psychologist. She also said that, because my addiction was also genetic, and really strong, that it would be hard to turn around.

All I could think of was, _oh no, what was I going to do? _And then came Rose. My beautiful Rose, thorny on the outside but a precious flower on the inside. A perfect little Rose.

I don't really know how it all happened. At the time, Rose had a lot of money flowing in from all of the books that she had published, and all of a sudden, it just... Happened.

She was over eighteen and came from a decent family and she was my next of kin after my mom, so the Child Protection Services asked her to take me in until I turned eighteen. Of course, I'm an adult now, but my problems still pursue me. Duh.

I was living with my angel, my _Rose, _in this gigantic mansion-like house, and no she would have to take care of me, and all of my problems would go away... Well, that didn't exactly happen.

I was having a terrible time at the school that Rose was putting me through, I flunked _every single _class in my entire grade, because I just couldn't... Deal. Eventually, I quit school, and everything went downhill from there. I drove my car all the way to the liquor store, using Rose's ID that I had stolen from her telling the cashier that I was twenty-one (I look a lot like Rose, being painfully blond and wearing lipstick 24/7 really helps), and when I got back in, I drank everything that I purchased.

Of course, when I put the car into gear in the dusk that had just set, pulling onto the _icy _road (yep, winter, just my luck), something was bound to happen. A truck of all things, a Ford 4x4, collided with the back of my tiny car, nearly crushing my legs, and _me_.

My fear was intense. The impact nearly broke the windshield, _almost, _and I knew at that moment my Rose was watching over me. My angelic Rose. At the force of the impact, the Ford tipped my car on its side, with me being closest to the ground.

The wind was knocked out of me and I fought myself in order to not pass out from pain. I felt like my legs were being constricted and I needed to get out. As drunk as I was, I still half-remember wriggling my legs out from my crushed car's seat, and crouched on my dash, figuring out what to do next.

The next thing I did was stupid, absolutely stupid. I pulled my right foot as close as I could to my body, and with all of my strength, kicked the windshield once, and then twice... And _wham! _The windshield gave way and so did I. I fell back, and my head made a sickening thud as it smashed against the metal of my destroyed car.

And then, the next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. Rose was there, Rose was _always _there, and she had said, "_everything's going to be alright"_ just like she had today, but everything wasn't alright, and it sure as fucking hell isn't now.

When I got to the hospital, I was unconscious, obviously. When I came to, the doctors told me that I was suffering from a concussion, and that it would take months for my leg to heal. _The leg that I had used to kick out my windshield with._

Twenty-two stitches and they had stapled my leg too. How many staples, I don't know. My leg was hung up in a sling and they said that they would put it into a cast once the threat of infection was no longer there.

It was really disgusting seeing my leg all torn and chewed up like that. All for some drinks. All because me and Rose (Rose and I, what the fuck ever) shared this big house but didn't even _speak _to one another, I flunked out of school, and I couldn't stop the cravings.

I was so guilt-ridden about her always having to take care of me and worrying about me. We ate a separate times and we woke up at separate times. We never talked even when she made me food (since she didn't trust me with kitchen appliances and knives). So, the agony drove me back to drinking, combined with all the other shit that I had to (and still have to) carry on my back. I know, my life sucks, doesn't it? Tell me about it.

About a year later was the second time that I was hospitalized under severe circumstances. I was free from all of my thoughts of drinking. I had started cutting instead of drinking though, like the pain was supposed to help, but that had gone as quickly as it came once Rose found out.

We never ate out- Rose _always _cooked at home. I'm not saying that that was a bad thing, Rose's food was sex on a plate (honestly, nobody could have sex on a plate, I just love this expression), but I was really bored of all of the things that Rose cooked over and over. Although I love seeing her in an apron.

I wanted to _go _somewhere. Yeah, maybe Rose's panties, but _besides _that. I demanded that we go to a restaurant, just the two of us. Instead, Rose took me to one of those fancy pool parties that was thrown by her rich neighbor (well, our rich neighbor) who invited her a few weeks back.

We got to this huge house (okay, maybe huge was an understatement, I really have no words that can describe the place- we got lost trying to find the backyard), and then to its backyard, where all of the other guests were _socializing_, Rose had put it.

I slipped into the mild water, which was surprisingly warm for a pool party at the end of May, and relaxed. This _was _a good idea. I floated on my back, hoping that Rose would notice me, but she was lying on a lawn chair reading a book. A _book._

Instead, a bunch of old men's hungry eyes wolfed down my exposed skin, and I slunk back into the water. Pervs. They all went back to talk to their wives (rich men have _no _boundaries) and I slipped out of the water and into a towel.

Thanks, Rose. But it _did _give me an excuse to talk to her as I plunked into the lawn chair next to her. Her eyes flickered to me, then back to her page, and then to me again.

"Could you get us some drinks?" Rose asked me.

I looked around. Where was the other person that she wanted me to get a drink for? We hadn't brought anybody else along, and none of the pervy men had made a move on Rose, so who was she talking about?

Oh _shit, _she was talking about _me. _She wanted _me _to get_ us _drinks!

"Oh, um, sure." I choked out about a half second later when I figured it all out. She smiled at me.

I went to the refreshments table. It wasn't very interesting. A bunch of old people pastries, some cups, some cutlery, and then the punch. I took two cups, filled them to the brim with brim, and started on my way back to Rose.

All I could think of was how cute Rose was when she was reading a book. The way she tugged on a strand of loose blond hair that always got in her face no matter how many times she cut it, the way that she bit her bottom lip in intensity, her gorgeous eyes focusing on the pages in front of her-

And then _whack! _Some old dude carrying a tray of deviled eggs smacks me head-on with so much force that I go flying, he goes flying, so does the tray of deviled eggs, and the drinks splashed all over me.

Those stains will _never_ come out of my bathing suit. I fly right back up, right over to the elderly man, who had fallen right in front of where Rose was sitting.

"You alright?" I ask the man, but he looks pretty beat. He stands up and puts every single one of those damn eggs back on the tray, then sets it back on the ground.

"I am _fine _James, I am able to control my actions, unlike you, you ungrateful fucking son of a-" The man starts, wiggling his finger at me.

I don't know a James. What. The. _Fuck?_

"Hey!" Rose shouts from her chair, standing up and holding her book _dangerously _close to his face. "Look what you did to my book."

I knew that she wasn't just talking about the deviled egg smeared across the front of the cover. She was talking about the tone of voice that he used towards me. But, even Rose's crazy psychologist mind wouldn't be able to quell whatever fucked up shit that man had going on.

"Oh, Petunia! I was looking for you! We have to go home, and, _y'know, wash the delicacies." _The man said in a sickly husky voice, right at Rose.

Rose just stood there. I didn't know what to do. What _could _I do? Other than beating the shit out of this drunken freak?

Suddenly, with both hands, Rose slapped the man right across the face with the five inch thick (and hardcover) book. He staggered back, stepping in the tray of eggs.

But then he smiled, advancing on "Petunia", or, as I like to think of it, my Rose. Before his blood smeared face could get near her (she had hit him nice and square on the nose), I grabbed him by the collar of his golf polo.

I could smell the alcohol on his breath. His "Petunia" was probably his old wife who had passed, and he had mistaken Rose for her in his drunkenness. And, you know what I learned that day? That alcohol poisons the heart.

It makes you see all the things that you want to see, and then, all of a sudden, it's gone, like a carpet pulled from underneath your feet.

"_You fucking sick bastard, don't you dare touch my Rose or you'll never live to see another day and you'll rot in Hell-" _

And then Rose was screaming. The man recoiled, picking up the tray, which was now mostly empty.

"_Fuck you, James! You _fucking took my Petunia away from me, _you _die and rot in Hell!"

Then, he hit me with the tray, knocking me back into the pool. My mind went black, and I sunk like a stone in the water.

"ROXY!"

Rose bellowed right before I hit the water, diving in after me.

Then, I remembered only bits and pieces. The water splashing, and then the taste of chlorine in my mouth. Then, blackness. And the next thing I knew, I was back at the hospital, Rose losing it when I came to, balling her eyes out.

For _me. _

I bet that you want to know how I got into the hospital _this _time, and I'm probably not going to tell you.

Because right now, I want to preserve the thought in my mind that Rose genuinely cared for me, that she might actually _love _me. Maybe in a motherly way, maybe in a friendly way, surely not anymore than that... I can't be sure.

All I did know was that I was wrapped in Rose's arms, breathing in her familiar scent, my face scrunched up on her shoulder, crying, and for some reason, I never wanted it to end.

After the last trip to the hospital, you could imagine that the doctors wouldn't take it easy on me. No, my last month has been hospital-filled, and nothing but _we're upping your medications if that's all right with you Miss Lalonde, you'll be seeing your psychologist five times a week alright Miss Lalonde?_

And Rose. I saw her around me a lot more than she ever has been before, which was really great, but I knew why in the back of my mind. Even though she was practically looking over my shoulder, I still spent most of my days sulking by my computer.

I thought of getting a job. Where the hell would I work? Nobody'd hire a twenty year old who has been in the hospital various times. I wouldn't even hire myself. I felt like shit. I still do.

The next months after my official release had been routine for me, the same thing over and over. Wake up, have a shower, get breakfast from Rose and daydream about her wearing nothing but her apron, sulk, eat lunch, sulk some more, eat dinner, stay up way too late sulking, go to bed and dream about Rose, and repeat.

My life was shit, _I _was shit, and I couldn't do fuck all about it. I am twenty and a half, and Rose still does my fucking laundry.

She says to me, "_Now Roxy, you are in no mental or physical position to be doing chores that require so much labor. I'll do your laundry. No really, that's alright. You can do it when you're more stable."_

When I was more stable? How stable do you have to be to do _laundry? _Besides, it had been months since my last ER visit. I nearly collapsed when she first said that, watching Rose walk away, and I was so shocked that I didn't even have the energy to look at Rose's ass. Because I was that fucked up.

I let the water pour down my body, my muscles relaxing as I basked in the steaming hot water. I run my soapy fingers through my hair, massaging my and letting the soap work its way into the roots. I flip my hair forwards, letting the water rinse away all of my problems.

And my dreams. I can only imagine the wreck my sheets must be in. Fucking damn it, I _was _messed up. I wonder how creeped out Rose would be if she knew that they were about her. That they were always about her.

I shuddered. I quickly finished my shower, slipping my towel around my body and stepping outside my bathroom door.

The towel was only half covering me as I held it with one hand and ran my hand through my wet hair with the other. Across the room, Rose was pulling the remainder of the sheets off my bed, bent over, facing the opposite direction from me.

I pulled the towel up to cover the rest of my body. She was so... _Perfect. _And I was so...

Suddenly, she turned around, the same fury as in the hospital blazing in her eyes as she glared at me. She walked towards me, and I held the towel tightly to myself, embarrassed.

Her hand pulled back, and she slapped me in the face with the back of it so hard that I stepped backwards. My vision blurred as she picked up the dirty sheets and left. She _knew. _

Fuck.

I felt the tender flesh on my cheek where it had bruised. It was two days after Rose had slapped me, and that thing still stung like a motherfucking _bitch._

I skipped my morning shower and breakfast- deciding to just lie on bed, unmoving and unable to get up, even though it's past noon. Rose hadn't checked on me yet today, and I even attempted to get out of my bed and talk to her, _once, _before falling back into the safety of my covers.

By the time I actually wrestle myself out of the covers, it's already one thirty. I kick the blankets off of me and sit on the edge of my bed. My hands fly down the sheets, making sure that I didn't dirty them like I did the night before- and I didn't.

I sighed in relief. Good. I don't know if I could deal with another slap. I raised my hand to feel my cheek again. There wasn't a _huge _bruise on my cheek but it was _there, _and it _fucking hurt._

I trudged in my bare feet across my carpeted floor. Opening my closet door, I stripped off my pajama shirt and pants. Might as well get myself dressed if I'm getting out of bed.

My small dresser was right beside my closet, and there, I pulled out a thong (fuck dude, thongs are comfy), a pair of jeans, and a bra. I had shoved my jeans in there, I don't know why. I guess I'm that fucked up.

As I pulled the shirt off the hanger, I could see something from the corner of my eye. I think that it's the lights playing tricks on me, since the sun is shining on me through the drapes, but its making feel like this day isn't so crappy.

I put on my black bra, which is almost entirely made of lace (Rose has been lingerie shopping for me since I got out of the hospital for the first time and she has surprisingly good taste), clasping it, when I hear footsteps.

And then she's standing there, looking right at me. Rose. And the light reflects off of her perfectly, majestically. Because she's _my _angel.

She steps closer to me, and I'm so surprised that she's here I didn't even try to cover myself. Her eyes are glistening, and her lips are so plump.

Then she's standing there, her breasts are touching mine, her hand is caressing the side of my face without the bruise on it, and she's looking right at me when she says, "Roxy... You're so... _Perfect._"

And I love how her voice cracks up when she says that and the next thing I know I'm pulling her closer, I'm begging her to be closer, she's holding my hand, and, suddenly, we're kissing.

Her lips were warm and moist and I melted into the embrace, giving away all of my problems and just... Being.

Too soon, our lips parted and our foreheads rested against each other. We stared longingly into each other's eyes, and I'm sure that I was blushing.

I cup her face in one of my hands, holding her hand with the other. Happy tears welled up in her eyes, and I used my thumb to push them away. "No Rose, you are perfect."

I was rewarded with a genuinely warm smile, and I could find happy tears threatening to appear in my eyes, so I let them go, pouring freely down my cheeks.

Rose kissed the tears off my cheeks, then me. The second kiss was deep and full of unspoken longing.

I pressed myself against Rose, afraid to be alone. We stayed like that for a while, not doing anything other than holding each other close. And it was comforting. Something that I haven't felt since my mother died.

I felt Rose's hand on my cheek, the bruised one this time, being careful not to hurt me as her fingers trailed lightly across it. "Was any of this ever... Wrong?"

She looked at me, all the fierceness that she had ever displayed melted from her face. She was _happy. _An emotion that I've never seen Rose have.

I hugged her, my face buried into her neck. "No, it never was. It was always _right." _I breathed into her neck as she hugged me back.

We pulled back, pulling apart just enough to be just barely touching each other. My arm went around her shoulder as she buried her head in my neck. She looked at the light dancing around us as she asked her next question.

"What about you, Roxy? Will you be okay? What would happen if we ever-"

She was worried, but I cut her off, looking at her in both the eyes and gripped her shoulders.

"Don't worry about me. I haven't broken, and I won't." I assured her and she smiled at me.

But I had lied. I had broken many times. After my mom died, after the accident, after the man hit me with the tray of deviled eggs, after what I did this time, I had broken. Rose was the superglue that kept me together.

"I love you." Rose admitted and my heart almost flew from my chest. It was never pity? Never, _ever _pity. It was love. Always love.

"I love you too." I replied, and this time, I wasn't lying.

"Fuck. _Roxy." _Rose moaned as my fingers pumped inside of her.

She just said my name. She _just said my name. "Aaaah, Roxy, please, nhhn, right there~" _My _name._

Her moans and cries of pleasure were getting more desperate and high-pitched. Her hands gripped the covers so tightly I thought that she might explode. Her eyes were shut, squished tight and her face was scrunched in pleasure.

I never had practice in this sort of thing other than on myself of course. All of the naughty porno that I had watched _never _prepared me for the bliss of real life, even if I was delivering it.

Rose squirmed as I added another finger, her cheeks turning the beautiful shade of pink that they do when she blushes.

She screamed for more, and added my name after it too. _Aaaah. _Anyways, I tentatively pushed another finger into her; she was so goddamn _wet, fuck._

Suddenly, she was tugging on my hair impatiently. I looked at her (and not my fingers), but I didn't stop.

"You know... Y-you know _I'm _not going to break, right?" Rose says to me, running her hand through my hair lovingly.

I blinked, gulped, and then nodded. Then, surprising her, I pumped my three fingers hard into her, and my other hand roamed her body, extenuating all of her curves, caressing her gorgeous breasts, but I couldn't stop staring into her eyes.

Rose looked way, she had to since her head whipped back in ecstasy as she gripped the covers even harder, pulling them towards herself. Her back arched, and she let out beautiful moans.

My fingers were knuckle-deep at this point, and Rose was suddenly pulling me towards her, scratching, _clawing _at me, telling me to keep going, how to make her feel good.

During all of my fucked up years, I had never "done it" before with anybody. Rose was even my first kiss. But she knew exactly what made her feel good, and how I was going to make her scream my name.

Over.

And.

Over.

Again.

And I did. She breathed into my neck, telling me how much she loved me, and the way I make her feel. She bit and sucked along my neck and shoulders, leaving decent-sized hickeys- which I could definitely deal with. I've endured a lot of pain over the few years that I've lived, and this was by far the best pain, the kind that I didn't need to endure.

Because I wanted it.

And when she screamed, she _orgasmed,_ we were on my bed, and I loved every second of it.To know that the person that I love is writhing and orgasming underneath me, that _I _did that, I made her feel that way- it's carrying me up to Cloud Nine.

My fingers slip out of her, and although she's breathing heavily, she pulls me down into a breathtaking kiss, one telling me that she's begging for more.

I saw this in a video once- I can't remember what it was called. So basically, the dominant one goes on top, the other woman going on the bottom. Their hips are level, which means that they're in the exact same spot. The girls peel their (y'know...) flaps apart, peeling the skin back and revealing their clits, and have a go at it.

And it only works if both of the girls are extremely wet.

Well, we fit the criteria all right. I leaned over Rose, aligning our hips. Rose had asked me what I was doing, when suddenly, I ground my hips against hers and she let out a moan.

And so did I. Reaching down, I peeled back the skin, revealing my sensitivities and letting Rose pleasure me as I pleasured her. She did the same, and, in no time at all, we were crying out each other's names, in a full pleasure-ridden bliss- in our world, where only the two of us exist in this moment.

I came first, I could feel it (for all you first-timers out there, you'll know), and I screamed Rose's name, holding her waist tight as I ground my hips against hers a couple more times before her moans became heated.

I only had to grind my hips against hers three more times before she went limp beneath me, letting out a whimper of pleasure, orgasming, and I could _feel _her doing it.

I rolled off her and over by her side. "Rose, are you okay? Do you want to keep going, or do you want to stop-" I started, but she interrupted me.

I had stopped talking because she was now on top of me with a lusty look in her eyes as her gaze held mine. "Of course I don't want to stop. _It's my turn."_

I don't think that there will be anything that good. Ever. My senses were all on fire, my body was tingling for all of the _right _reasons, and I finally, _finally, _had my Rose.

"Do you mind if I...?" Rose hesitantly asked, soap-suddy hands hovering over my head, hot water beading on us both.

"Of course not."

Rose let out a sigh of relief, letting her shampooed hands work their way through my hair, massaging my scalp.

I was facing away from Rose, and away from the dial-like thing that turns the water on and off (whatever, I don't fucking know what it's called). Rose was right behind me, standing so close that all of her body (it was as good as it sounds) was pressed against me under the scalding water. Completely naked.

After our blissful, well, there's no other way to put it, after we fucked, Rose had insisted that I eat something eventually, after we "did it" and lie in bed for a couple more hours talking. And then have a shower.

So, when I pulled a new pair of PJ's from my drawer and put 'em on, I trudged down to the kitchen, where Rose was making the two of us something to eat.

In nothing but an apron.

After we ate delicious omelets that Rose had prepared (_in nothing but an apron _holy shit, there _is_ a heaven out there), she once again insisted that I have a shower.

My reply? "I'm not going in the shower unless you're in there with me."

She nodded and here we are!

She put the conditioner in next, working it through my hair, but all I could think about was how tightly she was pressed to me. Like, wow.

She then turned around (awww) and asked me to do hers. I tried to simulate what she had made me feel, but there was no way that I was re-creating what she did to me.

We washed each other's bodies, hands flowing down each other's sides, coating ourselves in soapy love. We rinsed each other too- and I made a bad joke, asking Rose why I was like a doughnut (she called me perverted).

Get it? Because I go to her _thighs? _She then kissed me, and even though it was a light peck on the lips, it didn't stay that way for long. Sure enough, my arms wrapped around her neck tightly as she sucked on my bottom lip, and my heart was doing happy flips in my chest.

I felt my lips part on their own, and Rose's tongue fiddle with mine as it explored my mouth, pressing against the insides of my cheeks and running along the roof of my mouth. She was leading this time, and I was happy to follow as her hands slid down my shoulders where they had been resting down to my chest, and found my breasts. They glided across them, squeezing and touching them in places that made me shiver in pleasure.

My arms unlatched from around her neck, falling down to her waist, although they kept slipping lower. Rose wasn't complaining though, my hands resting on her gorgeous ass, holding her firmly in place while her hands explored my body and her tongue explored my mouth.

This must be a dream, like, pinch me. This can't be happening. But it is. And I'm on Cloud freaking Nine because of it.

Rose's tongue eventually left my mouth and trailed down to my neck and shoulders, where all of the hickeys were from earlier today. She eased her tongue over the purple and navy circles, sending tingling sensations down my spine and jolting through the rest of my body.

"Aaaah, Rose~" I moaned, but stopped myself mid-sentence.

I almost said stop. But I don't want her to stop, do I? All the feelings my gut was telling me said that this was wrong- until a single tear landed on my shoulder and my train of thought was broken.

"You say that you haven't broken yet, but it seems like you have." Rose choked out, her voice barely audible over the pounding water, running down her cheeks and down her body, the tears and water mixing and washing away.

She looks into my eyes- as if they could tell her a different story than my body and my words. But she was right. I was broken, but, as I previously mentioned before, she is the superglue that keeps me sane- without her I would be a crumbling mess just like my mother.

Rose was (and still is) the only thing stopping me from going back to the alcohol. The only person in my way, stopping me from becoming _her._

She never had to take me in. She could've sent me away to live in the hospital, or thrown from foster family to foster family until I was eighteen, or worse. But no, she kept me.

And not only did she keep me in her care when she could have cast me away in the first place, she still didn't abandon me when I screwed up all of those times.

_She saved my life._

If she hadn't of always been there for me, who knows where I would have been now? I might have been dead if I never met Rose.

And maybe, just maybe, I was keeping her sane too.

Without mewho knows where she would be? She suffers from depression, it's obvious. Would she live out her life in a rut, wishing that she could have done everything in her life differently?

She's still living her life in a rut, but one of a different kind. She can't drink, that would be impossible, she can't smoke (because what would happen if I swiped some from her and got addicted), couldn't go to drugs since she had to stay strong for me, and definitely couldn't mope and feel sorry for herself, never doing anything productive. No, she has to get up every morning in order to make sure I eat, and so, she can't harm herself.

All these years, she never once told me how she felt- that she loved me. Rose told me while we were lying in bed how "it would have complicated things- made you feel guilty about things that you should never feel guilty about because I love you and you love me back."

What would I feel guilty about, Rose? Would it be that _you _never had to look death in the eye as you watched your mother kill herself because she couldn't escape the liquor? That you went to the alcohol, because in some disturbingly comforting way, it reminded you of your mother?

That your mother never fought for her life because there wasn't anything worth fighting for? That you, her own daughter, wasn't a good enough reason to go through therapy to deal with her addiction? That you had to watch the only adult that you ever knew and ever depended on give up on her life?

No, Rose. That's not fair. You've never lived through what I've had to.

And if I were to feel guilty about you taking me in, I would feel that very early on. I am grateful that I'm still in your care, but I know the true reason now. You took on all of my grief, all of my pain, because you love me.

So why should I be guilty, Rose?

You tell me.

All I could do was nod. I was broken beyond permanent repair, and only time and Rose could heal my wounds.

_And I was the only one who could fix her._

"It's possible, right?" Rose asks, breaking into my thoughts as if she just read my mind. I could have mumbled or spoken my thoughts aloud, I don't even know at this point. "It's possible that we can fix each other, right?"

Joyous tears surface and Rose swallows the rest of her questions as I deliver my next words.

"Anything is possible."

Rose's arms happily slip around my neck and mine find themselves gripping dangerously low on her hips, but once again she doesn't seem to mind. Our lips meet, and I lick along Rose's bottom lip, her letting out a deliciously cute moan.

She shifts her feet, and before I even know what's happening, Rose has me pushed up against the tiled walls of the shower with both my arms pinned above my head. She pecks my lips one more time, and then licks along the underside of my chin along to my ear.

Once there, she practically moans all sorts of lusty _amazing _things into my ear _very _heavily, and begins trailing her hands down my body, pleasuring me in places that I thought I could ever be pleasured in.

She cups my breasts in her hands as if they are two pieces of gold, and her heavy moans mixed with mine cry out louder than the water as she pinches my wet, slippery nipples in her index finger and her thumb.

I melt into this intensity, I had never known that anything this good could ever exist, and I let Rose's hands explore all over my body, moaning her name as sexily as I can manage in this state.

I felt like this entire shower was purposeless since she was just going to get me dirty again. But I let her. This all seemed so surreal to me anyways- I couldn't believe that for once in my life things were going my way.

Nothing could make this a bad experience.

Rose woke with a start. She screamed.

"Rose? Rose!" I cried, but she didn't seem to acknowledge my presence.

Maybe she wasn't awake after all. She kept screaming.

"Rose?" I bolted up, sitting on the bed, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. Shit. What was going on?

I turned to look at her. She had sat up, screaming, looking towards the wall with her mouth hung open in an "o".

My Rose was in pain.

Of the physical kind, or the mental kind?

Her eyes shut and then opened again. She turned to me, but saw through me like I was a piece of glass. "Kanaya?" She asked.

I looked at her, trying to look into her eyes and find out what was wrong. Who is Kanaya? "Rose, it's Roxy!"

She still didn't hear me. I reached out and touched her arm. She recoiled like my hand was on fire.

She began to thrash. "_Kanaya!_" She screamed.

"Rose!" I couldn't bear for her to be in so much visible pain.

I wrapped her in my arms, holding her there until the fits started to subside. We lay there for what could have easily been seconds, minutes, or hours. It didn't make a difference to me.

I think that she regained consciousness at some point because she started to cry, fat tears streaming down her cheeks. I don't know who this "Kanaya" is, but I'm not letting that bitch get close to my beautiful Rose.

As much as I wanted to help Rose, I knew from experience that she needed some time to herself. I just couldn't shake off the fact that she was crying over another girl- I just wanted her pain to stop. I was still concerned. There was also the fact that we both admitted that we had feelings for one another.

Sometimes, we would wordlessly hold each other in our arms. Other times we would make it a point to stay away from each other because we still don't know what to do with ourselves.

Meanwhile, I had taken up cutting myself again. The pleasurable pain was too drawing, pulling me in like the products in over-priced infomercials.

I've only started with a few cuts. I'm confident that what I'm doing isn't going to turn into something huge and disgusting that's everything else in my life (except for Rose of course).

Rose wouldn't be happy with my choices, but she isn't there with me when I do it. She's not watching me as intently as she used to. She's wrapped up in her own problems. She needs some time to heal and deal with all of the things that I know she's going through.

I've hidden it from her. We haven't been intimate in days so I don't think that she's going to see them before they scar over and it won't seem like they were fresh at all. Besides, they're on my thighs, where nobody would notice.

I know that the cuts will spread like wildfire, but this is only a temporary solution. I'm not thinking of keeping up with this after Rose came back to me. It makes me forget about the alcohol when she isn't around. To me, that's a fair trade.

So what if it hurts?

Rose told me about Kanaya earlier and let me just say that it was not a pretty sight seeing her get all upset and emotional.

Turns out that the story wasn't at all like I thought it was.

There is too much death. And pain. Why do we have to feel pain? Life doesn't seem to be giving us any lemons, how the fuck are we supposed to make lemonade?

A tragedy, that's what it was.

Rose described Kanaya before she even began the story. She said that Kanaya was as close to perfect as anybody could ever get. Everything about her was flawless- her posture, her mannerisms, her people skills, her talents, her modesty, her looks...

Rose also said that she was gorgeous. Breathtakingly gorgeous. She swept Rose off of her feet with her beauty since the first day that they had met. She was Rose's first love.

Rose shared a lot of interests with her too. She knit, and she was an avid reader. Her vocabulary was also big, same as Rose's. They were the absolute perfect match.

Their relationship lasted for a long time. They rarely fought and had the most beautiful and balanced of all relationships, regardless of gender.

Until Kanaya died.

She grieved for a long time after that. She wouldn't tell me how long she's been dead, but I do know that she had passed away before I came into the picture.

After my first incident with my mom dying, Rose was instantly at my side. She understood my position more than I thought. As much as I didn't know it at the time, we grieved together, just over two different people.

And I was a very good distraction from the pain that she was feeling inside. At first and for the longest time, Rose felt like her love towards me was only pity and figured that she only loved me for the distraction that I provided.

After a really long time, she figured out that she loved me for me, but she never fell out of love with Kanaya. You never really fall out of love when your first love dies from being hit by a car.

Tragedy over tragedy piled over tragedy. The sheer amount of it seems pretty unbelievable now.

It's hard to wrap my head around all of the things that have happened. I really need to turn my life around. I've started actually talking to my therapist instead of just staring off into the distance. She's really nice.

She makes me feel like I can get somewhere. Sure it's her job and all that, but I still feel special. I really want to make my life into something worthwhile, not only for me but for Rose as well. I don't want her to feel like she needs to take care of me anymore.

"What do you aspire to be?"

I squirmed in the big leather chair. I wasn't prepared for this question, and I sure as hell didn't think that she'd ask it.

"Ma'am, I hope this is an appropriate answer but I just want a job to make some money and to have Rose be happy." I answer after a long but not quite comfortable silence.

"Ah. I see." She folds her hands in her lap. She then leans forward. "So... How are you and Rose doing?"

Normally this would be my time to gush and say tons of things about our relationship, how wonderful it is and I don't crave the alcohol and the feeling I get when I'm around her, but today I cut the crap.

"It's not great, but it isn't horrible either." Is my reply.

She gives me a questioning look. "Our love... It isn't normal. And it's not because we're two girls and we're technically related- no, it's not that. We've both just been through so much, we don't trust our instincts on these sorts of things anymore. Like love and such. Especially Rose. But, what we do know is that we will always be there for each other no matter what. We always have been.

Our love is strong. Sure, it's been kind of shitty, well; really shitty so far, that's the way things are in our relationship. We should last for a good long while- but I can't predict anything. Maybe I'll die, maybe she'll die- nothing's definite. But I know that I will never purposely break her heart. That is the last thing on Earth that I would ever do."

I sat back, releasing all of my pent-up thoughts. She nodded at me like she understood. What I said made sense! For the first time ever, what I said _actually _made sense. Except for telling Rose that I love her. _That _makes sense.

I guess love really can change a person. And alcohol poisons the heart.

Well, I know for sure that it poisoned mine.

Rose and I may get married one day. Have kids, make a family. I don't know. One thing's for sure- I'm never touching another drink ever again. That shit's _disgusting._

_Thanks for reading! I really hope that you enjoyed reading this! Please tell me what you thought of it._

_Peace out!_

_-Sassy-lesbian-Catherine _


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